


Opposition of the Stars

by sicktodeathoflogic



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicktodeathoflogic/pseuds/sicktodeathoflogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-imagining of MFMM in a modern police setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistaken Identity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/gifts).



The bar was filled with the familiar loud discussions over the rambunctious music and the clinking of half-empty glasses. Another case closed, and Captain George Sanderson generously invited to buy everyone in the precinct drinks. Naturally, no one refused. They certainly deserved it; Murdoch Foyle was an elusive serial killer that had finally been brought to rights.

“Good work, Fisher!” Mac, the city coroner, called to the woman sitting with one other person in a booth. Phryne raised her glass and offered a small smile in response.

She took a sip and turned to her partner, her gaze finding his over the rim of her glass. “Stop looking at me like that, Jack.”

Detective Robinson’s almost trademark steely look was directed toward her from across the table. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she countered facetiously, batting her eyelashes.

Jack was not deterred. “Because Murdoch Foyle might have killed your sister, but he won’t tell you.”

Phryne stopped her cup for a split second before taking a large gulp. “Doesn’t matter. He’s in jail. We caught him.”

“Right.” Jack obviously didn’t believe her, Phryne knew, but he didn’t push the subject further, which she appreciated. However, she felt suffocated by his stare of concern, and was grateful when she saw interrupted by a tug on the arm.

“Hey, Dot! What’s up?”

Dot was positively glowing from head to toe, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Is that okay, Detective Robinson?”

“Of course, Miss Williams,” Jack replied with a smile, gesturing that Phryne could leave with his hand. Phryne gave him a look that spoke volumes on how she was going to give him the same lecture she’d given him before, mostly on his infernal insistence to be so formal with his coworkers. It took her a year of partnering with him to finally have him accept her calling him Jack, and on rare occasions of desperation or worry, he would reciprocate and call her Phryne.

Dot pulled Phryne into the women’s bathroom, and quickly checked the stalls for listeners. Satisfied, she turned and gave Phryne the biggest smile she had ever seen. “Hugh’s asked me to have dinner with him!"

Phryne felt a surge of happiness on her best friend’s behalf. “Finally,” she exclaimed, “I thought he’d never ask!” Hugh Collins was the only man Phryne approved of to be in Dot’s life. He was goodness and virtue itself, same as her friend, and the only other person in the office that Jack was on first-name terms with. Hugh and Dot were making eyes at each other since Dot’s first day as Captain Sanderson’s administrative assistant, a position Phryne convinced her to apply for. Phryne made a mental note to collect the twenty dollars from Jack that he owed her. _W_ _ho’s the office matchmaker_ now _, Jack Robinson?_

“I’m sure he would’ve gotten around to it,” said Dot, although her amused smile gave away her doubt.

“When are you going?”

“Next week!”

Phryne placed her hand on Dot’s shoulder. “If you need any help with your outfit – ”

“No, that’s okay,” Dot reassured her with a laugh. “I think we’ve already seen what happens when our fashion tastes collide.”

“Dorothy Williams, that was _one_ time!”

“And I looked so bad that my blind date snuck out of the bar under the pretense of going to the bathroom.”

Phryne rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s because he was an asshole."

“True. But I also looked like a fish out of water. I know Hugh isn’t fashion-savvy, and I’d like to look like myself.”

“If you insist,” Phryne sighed dramatically before fixing her hair in the bathroom mirror.

Dot’s face became more serious. “How are you feeling?”

Phryne shot her a frustrated look through their reflections. “Not you, as well!”

“What?”

“You and Jack seemed convinced that I am _this_ close to collapsing in on my feelings,” Phryne explained, holding up her thumb and forefinger as reference. She scoffed and returned her gaze to the mirror.

“Can you blame us?” asked Dot quietly. Phryne didn’t have time to respond as the bathroom door burst open, the loud sounds of the bar and the smell of alcohol crashing into the room like a tsunami.

Two officers stumbled into the room, hand in hand. They both looked slightly disheveled and were blushing furiously. They were leaning in for what appeared to be another kiss, when the taller of the two noticed that they were not alone. He silently pointed this out to the other man. “Oh, shit! Sorry, wrong bathroom.”

“Really, Bert?” Dot scolded, albeit fondly. “We haven’t even been here for an hour and a half.”

Bert groaned. “Come on, Dottie, give us a break! With all the extra shifts Sanderson’s had us doing, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in forever,” he said, annunciating the “ever” in slow motion. He mindlessly ran his hands up and down Cec’s waist and arms.

Cec just chuckled. “Yeah, and we all know that Bert is a role model of patience.”

“Oi!” Bert slapped Cec’s arm playfully. “I’ll get you for that one, you ass.” Cec bent down and smiled into another kiss.

“Not in the women’s restroom, I think, gentlemen,” Phryne ordered, shooing them into the bar, despite their grumblings of protest. She took this opportunity to escape Dot’s interrogation and joined seamlessly with the throng of people. She maneuvered her way to the door of the bar and stepped out into the street beyond, breathing in the crisp night air. The city was more beautiful at night, in her opinion.

Phryne peered through the bar window and felt a pang in her chest. As much of a party person as she was, she didn’t particularly feel like sticking around for this one’s conclusion. She had everything with her; she might as well go home.

“Leaving so soon?”

The voice startled Phryne so much that she whipped around almost instantly and instinctively reached for the small pistol she kept in her purse. “Oh. It’s you, Jack.”

Jack withdrew from his spot in the shadows along the wall of the bar. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Phryne said defensively. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. Besides, you shouldn’t be lurking around in shadows – it’s unbecoming for your character.”

Jack smiled and suppressed a chuckle. “My character?”

“Yes, your character. You know, the whole noble-knight-on-his-white-steed-who-can-never-do-wrong persona.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” Jack joked, moving closer to Phryne and the dim light that the bar provided.

Phryne gave him an earnest stare. “No. I’m not."

Jack cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very hot under his collar. “You going home?” Phryne nodded, and some of her previous sadness returned to her eyes. “Shall I escort you home, ma’am?” he asked in a disgraceful British accent, bowing slightly.

“How could I say no to such manners?” Phryne replied with her signature smile. As Phryne turned to call a cab, Jack grabbed her arm and pulled Phryne into his frame.

“I’m sorry, Phryne,” Jack whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Phryne suddenly felt her face become hot and wet with tears and she clung on to Jack’s trench coat like a lifeline. “Where is she, Jack?” she gasped out. “Where did he bury her? It’s my fault, it’s all my fault – ”

“Shh,” Jack cooed in her ear, “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.” He began to lead her away from the view of all the constabulary in the bar. No one seemed to notice anyway, except Dot, to whom Jack signaled to that all was well. Dot was concerned, but returned to her drink with Hugh.

“But he wanted _me_ , Jack! That’s what he said! That he mistook Janie for me, that I should’ve died in her place!”

Jack stiffened. He often tried to keep his personal feelings away from cases because he found them distracting and disquieting to the mind when he returned home from work and needed to drift swiftly into sleep. This case seemed to be the exception, not because it was personal for him, but because it was personal for Phr – Miss Fisher. His partner. He had never seen her so cold in gathering evidence, and yet so distraught as she was now. Their usual banter and playful bickering did not surface when Murdoch Foyle was plaguing her mind, and for some reason it angered him. Jack felt helpless to alleviate Phryne’s grief, and he wished that Murdoch Foyle would give him the site of Janie’s burial, even if he had to beat it out of him. Although, Jack reflected, he would not mind kicking the shit out of that sick, twisted bastard. No. He wouldn’t mind that one bit.

But he would never tell her this. “Don’t wish yourself dead, Phryne. Then your sister’s death wouldn’t mean anything.” Phryne became quiet after he said this, and he assumed she understood. He slowly walked her home, always having at least his arm around her shoulders.

When they reached Phryne’s apartment door, Jack finally let go, and immediately felt the warmth lost in her absence. She rubbed away the final stubborn tears that refused to fall and grabbed her keys.

“Would you like me to stay?” Jack blurted out. “I mean, as a friend, if you feel like you’re alone or something…” He trailed off and felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Phryne just smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry, Jack Robinson,” she said softly, “I know I’m not alone.” She quickly kissed his cheek and retreated into her apartment.

Despite the emotional turmoil of the last couple of weeks, Jack found himself smiling in the hall outside of Phryne Fisher’s door. He felt hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic is in reference to a line of the poem "The Definition of Love" by Andrew Marvell.


	2. All That Glitters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you asked for continuing chapters, so I give you these one-shots based off of episodes in season two. Hope you enjoy!

“I know you’re there, Fisher.”

Phryne straightened from her poised position behind Jack’s office chair and pouted. “Oh, come on! I was absolutely silent that time!”

Jack smiled to himself. “You’ve been trying to scare me for years. It’s never going to work,” he replied without looking up from the documents splayed before him.

“I’ll figure out how you do it,” Phryne declared, snatching the file from Jack’s hands, “and when I do, you’re going to be sorry. So, what’s the case here?”

“A robbery, I think.”

“You think?” Phryne hopped onto Jack’s desk and perused the papers in detail, her long legs swinging aimlessly off the side.

Jack hummed in agreement. “A local adventurer, Gerald McNaster, claims that one of the famous coins in his collection has been taken.”

“But?”

“But he can’t prove that he had the thing in the first place. There’s one blurry photograph, but that’s all.”

Phryne muttered something about how unfortunate it was for the man and took another moment to look over the notes. Finally, she smirked and gave Jack a mischievous look. “This case isn’t in our district. It’s on the waterfront.”

Jack anxiously swiveled in his chair. “So it is.”

“Why would Detective Inspector Jack Robinson care so much about an almost-robbery in a different part of the country?” inquired Phryne out loud.

“Probably ‘cause of his love of old coins!” Hugh called from his desk, in an attempt to be helpful. Jack immediately retaliated with a well-leveled glare in Hugh’s direction.

Phryne looked smug. “Love of old coins?”

“It was a childhood interest, nothing more,” Jack conceded, taking back the file. Phryne grinned, which made Jack want to change the subject. “Fancy a trip to the seaside?”

“Of course! You know how I _love_ the scenic views,” said Phryne, and then – in a breathy voice only Jack could hear – she added, “especially certain police officers in bathing suits.”

Jack used to be uncomfortable by Phryne’s overtly sexual behavior, but now he barely quirked an eyebrow. His face remained placid as he left the precinct, with Phryne in tow. Although, he couldn’t shake the feeling that either she was appraising his ass during the walk to the elevator, or it was just his very creative (and very distracting) imagination playing tricks on him.

He mumbled a curse. This was going to be an interesting case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit short; I just needed some fluff before the heavier chapters.


	3. Always be Ready to Step in Front

“Dottie, I’m fine; I promise!” Hugh managed to say before hissing in pain.

Dot gave Hugh a skeptical look and lowered the cloth that she had been attempting to clean the cuts on his face with. “Your injuries would say otherwise.” She refrained from commenting on how ill equipped she felt she could help him, what with only the precinct’s first aid kit and their break room.

“I seem to recall you cheering me on when I took down that big fella in the ring,” Hugh pointed out. “Something about how handsome I looked as I knocked him to the floor?” Dot wiped the grin off Hugh’s face with another dab of rubbing alcohol on his cut. She would never tell him this, but she had been concerned for his safety when he went to rescue his friend, Tom, from a corrupt boxing ring. That’s why Dot had been there in the first place; Phryne let slip how dangerous the whole thing was, so Dot left to see what the fuss was about. She had barely arrived when she saw her boyfriend take on a challenger in a boxing ring to appease the crowd. Hugh’s adversary had been at least twice his size wide and several heads taller. Dot was prepared to talk Hugh out of it, but Phryne assured her that he was an experienced boxer and could handle himself. That proved to be true, minus a few glancing blows that left Dot’s knuckles white around her purse. And yes, she _may_ have let out a few impolite cries as an audience member (even Phryne seemed scandalized by Dot’s language), but she would never admit to it. 

“I said nothing of the sort, Hugh Collins. I was merely… attempting to boost your confidence from the audience. Lord knows it doesn’t need anymore boosting now.” Dot smiled, and blushed furiously when Hugh smiled back.

“Well, thank you Dottie,” Hugh replied. “Means a lot.”

Dot removed her hand from his face and eyed him earnestly. “Your father would be proud of you.”

Hugh shifted uncomfortably and pretended to laugh. “For what?”

“For not giving up on your friend,” Dot explained, “even when everyone else thought he was guilty.”

“Ah.” Hugh nodded, but his eyes got watery thinking about his father. Dot was still unsure of how much she could say to Hugh about his father, considering that he had only told her about the circumstances of his death a few weeks before. Hugh hadn’t really gone into much detail, just how it had been a terrible accident when he was a child.

Dot leaned across the table and kissed him – a silent apology. He deepened the kiss, and for a moment Dot anticipated doing something that – if she were thinking clearly – she would consider highly inappropriate to do in the break room.

Unfortunately, the two made little headway before Phryne rushed in. “Dot, want to go –” She stopped herself as Dot and Hugh broke apart. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Not a problem, Fisher,” Hugh said with a smile, but his eyes betrayed his disappointment. “Dot was just helping me feel better after today’s skirmish in the ring.”

“I can see that.” Phryne smirked suggestively. “I was just wondering if you two wanted to accompany Jack and I to the amusement park! He lost a bet with me in this case, so it’s his treat. Dot?”

Dot shook her head. “No, thank you. I hate roller-coasters; all the screaming freaks me out.”

Hugh also declined, so Phryne left unceremoniously, throwing innuendos over her shoulder. When they were finally alone again, the room seemed quieter. “I should probably get on,” Hugh said at last.

“Yes,” Dot replied. “So should I.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah! See you tomorrow.” 

Hugh left and Dot’s pleasant expression broke. She felt as if she hadn’t made things right with Hugh, but she wasn’t good at being forward with people. That was Phryne’s realm. As she stood to go home, she saw Hugh walking quickly towards her, jacket in hand. He immediately threw the jacket on the nearest chair.

“Hey, Hugh, wha –” Hugh cut her off with a kiss, cupping her face in his palms.

When they separated, Hugh smiled down at her and rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs. “I love you, Dottie,” he whispered. “You – you always know what to say, and you care so much, and you make everything okay. Thank you.”

They both were a little late getting home.


	4. Loyalties

Upon further reflection, Phryne decided that there were far more reasons to avoid football games than she had previously believed. If it wasn’t the double murder, obstruction, and abortion scandal that wracked the teams currently on the field, it was the insane rivalry between their fans that had taken over the precinct. Bert and Cec had made their positions quite clear when the case had started: they were dating, but until the match was over, they refused to engage in any friendly interaction. Jack and Hugh sided with Bert’s team, Abbotsford, and their desks seemed to fashion a décor of red and green almost overnight. Dot and Cec responded in kind by decking out their stations in copious shades of West Melbourne blue.

Phryne thought the whole competition was idiotic, and declared that she would not be taking sides (which didn’t stop Bert from claiming that her decision was obvious, given that she grew up in Collingwood).

And yet, Phryne found herself at the Abbotsford/West Melbourne game. The teams had been balanced, if one wanted to use a delicate word for it, by the deaths of two leading players and the arrests of both coaches. Unlike the other patrons of the game, Phryne refused to wear any green, red, or blue articles of clothing. Bert and Cec certainly made up for her lack of enthusiasm with vigor. They stood next to each other in the crowd closest to the field, shouting opposing cheers in each other’s faces. They wore scarves, hats, and face paint that Phryne thought looked ridiculous, but they were enjoying themselves, and that’s what mattered. 

If Phryne was being honest with herself, she’d admit to being slightly miffed when Jack’s ex-wife, Rosie, appeared in her Abbotsford attire with her current beau – both of which displeased Captain George Sanderson astutely – to congratulate Jack on the case. It wasn’t because of anything personal Phryne felt on her part. Of course not. She just hated the way Rosie would suddenly materialize with this other man (Fletcher, she thought the name was), not to flaunt her good fortune in front of Jack, but having the same effect. Jack would become quietly perturbed, and impossible to communicate to without insistence on Phryne’s part.

She also hated the look in Rosie’s eye whenever she saw her and Jack together. It couldn’t possibly be jealousy because Rosie had divorced Jack; any deeply personal connection the two shared died years ago, as Phryne understood it.

“I would’ve thought that this was your sort of entertainment,” said Jack above the din of the crowd.

Phryne smiled, glad for the interruption of her thoughts. “It used to be.”

“What changed your mind?” 

“Let’s just say I didn’t help the teams play fair when I was little.”

“You?” Jack feigned horror. “Not playing by the rules? Surely not.”

A goal was scored. The stands roared with praise, but Phryne wasn’t paying attention to the game.

“I think Abbotsford would suit you,” Jack said, as if he was continuing a thought. He hesitantly took off his trademark scarf and put it around Phryne’s neck, his eyes lingering on hers as he did so. Phryne smiled again, not noticing that the game had come to an end.

Finally, their glance broke. Jack’s jaw moved beneath his skin like he was holding something back, and Phryne wanted to tell him to let out whatever it was. Instead, they both sat motionless in their seats as people around them filed out of the arena. After a moment, Jack looked towards the field and laughed.

“What?” asked Phryne, following his gaze.

“I think Johnson and Yates are more than pleased that the match is over.”

Phryne searched the remaining spectators, and sure enough, the two had religiously followed the no-interaction-until-the-game-was-finished rule. Therefore, it seemed, the final whistle also allowed them to snog senseless in front of a hundred onlookers. Cec was (as usual) the first to recognize where they were when the two finally broke for air, and tugged Bert towards the direction of somewhere more private. From her spot lower in the stands, Dot called something out to them that Phryne couldn’t hear, but she could guess that it was something to do with being safe and not disturbing anyone.

Annoyed, Bert turned around and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Well, how about you and Romeo clean up the break room when you’re done!”

Cec immediately shoved Bert to the gates before Hugh, mortified for both himself and Dot, could come pommel him into the ground. “Oi!” Hugh shouted. “I don’t care that you’re an Abbotsford bloke, I can hand you your ass on a platter!” 

Jack got up, shaking his head, though he seemed amused by it all.

Phryne sighed. “I hope we won’t have to arrest them.”

Jack gestured for Phryne to exit after him. “I’m sure we will. Have you seen a footie club drink? There’s more alcohol in those men than you serve at your parties.”

“I doubt it,” Phryne boasted. She paused. “I’ve never been to a footie club celebration,” she mused, almost to herself as she watched Bert and Cec leave the arena hand in hand, followed by Dot and Hugh, whose arm was draped over Dot’s shoulders to hold her close.

Jack held out his elbow. “Shall we?”

Phryne looked to Jack’s arm, and then his face. She was looking for a lie, a false pretense, something to make the act not what it seemed. In the end, she graciously accepted, and sensed the familiar warmth of trust in her stomach that she felt whenever she was with Jack. For the first time in years, she felt safe in hands that weren’t her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my brief internet search of the Abbotsford and West Melbourne teams, there are several differences that would appear over the near-hundred years between the date of the show and today. For example, West Melbourne's team apparently dissolved in 1908, according to Wikipedia, and their colors were red and white.
> 
> So, consider the fact that some aspects to the teams today may not comply with this chapter as part of the AU. I merely took the material presented in the episode and used it.


	5. Lying in the Wreckage

Phryne knocked on Jack’s door repeatedly. “Jack? Jack, I know you’re in there. Let me in.” Silence. “Do I really need to break the door down?” She knew that she couldn’t break down the door, not realistically, but it sounded more menacing than threatening to discreetly pick the lock with her pocketknife. At any rate, she needed to talk to him. Phryne understood why Jack was not responding in his usual professional manner (by not responding at all, it would seem). Something had struck hard about this particular case and he felt it acutely throughout the entire ordeal. What it was, she didn’t know. Unfortunately, he busied himself with a car accident-turned-murder and Phryne knew better than to get in the way of an ongoing investigation, so she left him alone. With the case finished, however, she felt no obligation to leave him to his misery.

So, naturally, her solution was to badger Jack about his emotions until he caved. A pinnacle of patience and respect for privacy, Phryne took out the small knife she kept in her boot and skillfully unlocked the door. She was immediately overcome by the lingering smell of alcohol. “Jack? It’s me,” she called out into the barely lit apartment. No response. The television was on in the living room, so she made her way there with some trepidation. Nothing seemed unusual at first. Phryne noted long ago when she had first visited her partner that Jack Robinson kept his apartment like he kept his life: clean, orderly, and frugal. And, for the most part, that was how it appeared. It was little clues that gave Phryne worry – a suit jacket thrown carelessly over the couch, a tie strewn on the floor, whiskey spillage on Jack’s generally immaculate coffee table. He was also watching a rerun of _Bridget Jones’ Diary_ , a movie that, on a good day, would have been skipped over in the blink of an eye.

“Let me guess, you just found the door unlocked.” Jack didn’t look up from his slouched position on the sofa. He cradled a glass in his hand that still held a ring of liquor.

“If you would give me a key to your apartment, like I gave you, I wouldn’t have to break in,” Phryne replied coolly, finding a place to sit next to him.

“Or you could just wait for me to let you in." 

“You weren’t going to let me in.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to see you,” Jack muttered. His voice was rough and devoid of any readable emotion.

Phryne felt as if she’d been stung, but she composed herself. “Well, you’re my partner and I was here to celebrate our victory with the case, but,” she stopped to pull out an empty bottle of whiskey that had lodged itself under the sofa, “it seems you’ve already done enough drinking for both of us.”

Jack grimaced, but said nothing. Phryne put the bottle back on the table. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said softly.

At first, Jack resisted Phryne’s gaze, but he knew his partner. She’d camp outside his apartment door or tap his phone or dig through his trash until she got answers. He might as well tell her now. “When Hugh called to tell me about the accident,” Jack started, “I misunderstood. All I heard was your name and a crashed car and…” He paused to let out a hollow laugh and finish off his glass.

“You thought it was me in the car?” 

Jack nodded. “You can imagine my surprise, then, when you turned up at the crime scene.”

“B-But I’m here!” Phryne stammered. “There’s no need to drink yourself into a stupor for that.”

“I’m not in a stupor,” Jack stated, “and that’s not why I was drinking. I was drinking because I realized that it could’ve been you.”

Phryne gaped at Jack. “If you’re referring to how I drive the squad car – ”

“Yes, I am,” Jack snapped. “You’re a cop but you feel the need to take a breakneck pace everywhere. And, what’s more, you’re unbelievably rash when it comes to your own personal safety! It’s irresponsible.”

Tension settled in the room and Phryne rubbed her hands together. “This has never bothered you before.” Jack scoffed, and Phryne took that to mean that it did now. “I’m not ashamed of my behavior, Jack, and it gets the job done, so I’m certainly not going to constrict myself to please you.” 

“I’m not asking you to. I just can’t – I worry – ” Jack faltered before finally saying, “I’ve asked Sanderson to make Collins my usual partner.” 

Phryne was at a loss for words. She didn’t even register Jack getting up and asking her to leave. She rose out of instinct and stepped towards the hall before turning around to face Jack, watery-eyed. “As excruciating as you might have found the _idea_ of me being injured, you should know that this,” Phryne gestured to the air between them, “is very real, and it hurts just as much. Think about that, Jack Robinson.”

Phryne was down the first flight of stairs before Jack could close the door.


	6. Two Steps Behind

“I don’t care." 

Phryne was startled. She hadn’t even said anything to Mac after the briefing for the preliminary findings of the case. “Sorry?”

“I know you and Jack aren’t partners right now,” Mac clarified, taking a quick glance at the crime scene photos again. She looked as disgusted as a doctor could be with gore. “Some personal matter or other, right? Well, I don’t care. I need you two on this case.”

“I – ” Phryne began, but found herself at a loss to explain the situation. To her, it was as if one day she and Jack had been partners, and then next, they weren’t. Phryne missed working on cases with him. Not that handling matters with Bert and Cec wasn’t fun, it just didn’t have the thrill she seemed to get with a murder. And, despite her best efforts to avoid Jack at all costs, Sanderson paired her with him for the murder inquiry of one of Mac’s friends, a professor at a medical school. “He says I’m irresponsible. And a pain in the ass.”

“You are.”

“Obviously. But he doesn’t want to deal with it.”

Mac scoffed and grabbed her jacket from behind a chair. “Wimp. Well, I need you two to sort things out because I need this case solved,” she said as she left the room, stopping only to hand Phryne a piece of paper: the address of the crime scene.

Phryne peered out the briefing room blinds. She could see Jack standing over his desk instead of sitting at it, quickly rifling through files and collecting his notebook. Taking a deep breath, she assumed her signature gait and, address in hand, walked pass Jack to the elevator doors.

Noticing her intentions, Jack quickly met her pace and moved to face her. “I’ve already got men interviewing the students. You don’t have to come.”

“Are you asking me to drop the case?” asked Phryne, pausing briefly to push the call button.

“No,” Jack muttered. “We just don’t have to be on the same avenues of investigation.”

“Fine with me,” said Phryne cheerfully, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. In one swift motion, she maneuvered around Jack and entered the elevator just as the doors were closing. “Have fun catching up!”

If Jack didn’t want to work with Phryne, fine. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t point out his idiocy through good-natured competition.

* * *

Later that week, when the case was solved and all the paperwork had been filed, Phryne sat alone in her usual bar. Though reluctant at first, Jack accepted Phryne’s help in the past few days because she had made it clear that whatever was going on between them wasn’t as important as solving a murder. They were both adults, after all. She still thought it unnerving, Jack’s behavior at the beginning of the case. It reminded her of when they first worked together, how she felt like she had to _prove_ her competency to him – something that infuriated her, especially when the person who doubted her intelligence was a man. Phryne believed that both she and Jack held each other in the highest respect, so this was all very confusing to her.

She was so distracted she almost neglected her phone vibrating against the wood of the counter. It was a text from Jack, of all people.

 _We do work better together. I’ll just have to get used to your carelessness._ Jack continued to type before he added: _For the benefit law and order_.

Phryne smiled to herself, ordered two beers, and then texted him back. _Want to meet up for a drink?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this one's a bit short but I'm working on later chapters and - though I wracked my brains - I couldn't figure out a way to make this one longer. Enjoy!


End file.
